


Stay in Bed

by shewasagaystripper



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Common Cold, Fever, Flu, Illness, Lack of Appetite, M/M, Roger's really quite ill in this one, Sleepless nights, Spanking, Vomiting, coughing endlessly, he deserves that tbh, headache, not that that will stop him from being a bloody tease like usual, some hinting at sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 19:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16939311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewasagaystripper/pseuds/shewasagaystripper
Summary: Brian did not know the true definition of both ‘insufferable’ and ‘adorable’ until he was stuck with his ill boyfriend for five days





	Stay in Bed

**Day One: Night**

Brian tiredly opened one eye when Roger turned around in bed again, the arm Brian had wrapped around him slipping off his body and landing on the mattress for what had to be at least the tenth time that night. He heard Roger sigh deeply while trying to find a position on  the bed on which he could  finally fall asleep, throwing all the covers aside in the act. Brian couldn’t help wondering what was wrong with him that night; his boyfriend usually fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow without ever even staying awake for more than ten minutes, which he normally spent lying calmly against Brian’s chest, arm wrapped around his body, peacefully waiting until the sleep would wash over his body. But this night, he kept restlessly rolling around and changing positions, kicking the blankets off and pulling them back again, keeping both himself and Brian awake, and it was starting to work on Brian’s nerves.

When Roger turned himself  - and with that, half of the duvets - around once again, facing the other way, Brian saw his window of opportunity and caught him in a strong grip around his upper body, pulling Roger, who shrieked in surprise, closer to himself.

‘Gotcha,’ he snickered against the shell of Roger’s ear, before he nuzzled at his messy blond tresses. ‘What do you think you’re doing, little troublemaker?’

‘Being imprisoned,’ Roger answered, sounding a little throttled, which Brian thought was because of a combination of being squeezed probably a bit too tightly by his thin but surprisingly strong arms ánd because of the sore throat and rheum he had been developing since a few days.

‘Sorry,’ Brian offered, loosening his grip around Roger’s tense body. ‘But seriously though, why are you still awake?’ he asked in a sterner tone, as if he expected an explanation from Roger.

‘Because I can’t sleep,’ Roger whined in response.

‘Woah, breaking news! Call the newspapers!’ Brian answered. But instead of the playful slap he thought he’d receive from his lover, Roger just shivered, wrapping his own arms over Brian’s as if to keep himself warm.

‘I don’t feel very well,’ he whispered in the smallest voice, and with that he caught Brian’s attention.

‘Really? What’s wrong, baby?’ Brian asked, pulling Roger closer again, but he just felt the younger man shrug against his chest. He wasn’t taking a shrug for an answer, though. ‘Hey, turn around, look at me,’ Brian said as he carefully flipped Roger over, but Roger just groaned hoarsely when he did so, not exactly in the mood to be medically examined at one o’clock. Brian assumed it was just because he was tired and having a starting cold, but when he reached out to switch on the nightlight to look at Roger, he realised more was going on. His cheeks were flushed crimson red and at the same time, his teeth were chattering with cold, and his overall appearance was just fragile.

‘God, Roger, you don’t look too well! Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling ill?’ Brian asked as he sat upright, Roger still lying on the bed and burying his face in the pillows.

‘I just thought that it’s probably nothing,’ Roger said, grasping the blankets he had just kicked away to pull them over his slightly shivering body again.

‘I’m afraid not,’ Brian replied, placing his hand on Roger’s forehead, which was pale to the eye but felt burning hot against his touch. ‘I think you’re starting to develop a fever, boy.’

That was what eventually pulled a reaction from Roger. ‘A fever? Are you sure?’ he squeaked, and as he opened his eyes to look up at Brian to see if he was being serious, Brian could see the empty glow in them that was typical for Roger when he wasn’t feeling too well.

‘You feel unnaturally warm, you kick the blankets away because you feel hot and then pick them up when you feel cold right after, your cheeks are red...’ Brian summed up. ‘I’m pretty sure you’re starting to get a fever.’

Roger sighed in frustration. ‘No, we can’t have that! I don’t have _time_ to catch a fever!’ he complained, and Brian couldn’t oppress a chuckle when Roger said that.

‘Well, I don’t think the fever cares about you having a lack of time,’ Brian said as he laid down again, pushing a few strands of blond behind Roger’s ear. The drummer glanced down, allowing Brian to drape an arm around his now visibly shaking body again.

‘What are we going to do now?’ Roger asked.

‘Now? Now we’re going to sleep, and tomorrow morning we’ll see how you’re doing,’ Brian told him, securing the blankets tighter around their bodies.

‘ _Tomorrow morning_? Don’t you have any medicines or something we can do about it right now?’ Roger asked, but he saw Brian shake his head before he switched off the nightlight.

‘I’m sorry, babe. There’s nothing to do about a fever but rest. So that’s what we’re doing to do now, and tomorrow morning, we’ll take it from there,’ Brian responded fatherly, leaving Roger little choice but do as he said. He begrudgingly rested his head against Brian’s chest, letting the latter stroke his sweaty back until he eventually fell asleep.

# # #

**Day Two: Morning**

When the alarm clock went off at half past six that morning, one glance at Roger was enough for Brian to confirm that his fever and cold had escalated; his cheeks were still flushed, his chest was raising and falling in an irregular pace, he seemed to be having a hard time breathing,- and swallowing, and he was shivering all over. Brian quickly switched off the noise making device, and as he saw that Roger had miraculously slept right through everything, he decided to just let him sleep.

However, Roger woke up soon after due the noise Freddie and John were making in the kitchen, even though Brian had told them that they should stay quiet for Roger’s sake. After just having looked at Roger for a few seconds in his feverish state, it was the unanimous decision of the three of them that they should let him catch up some sleep and not bother him with the daily routine of going to the studio to practice or to record.

Brian, who just came out of the bathroom where he had soaked a washcloth in water to cool Roger’s forehead with, sat down on Roger’s side of the bed when he awoke from his unconsciousness, watching as Roger’s heavy lidded eyes fluttered open.

‘Good morning, angel. How are you feeling?’ he asked, and Roger just moaned softly in reply, confirming Brian’s suspicions that he was feeling even worse than the night before. He reached over to put the cold washcloth on Roger’s sweaty forehead, and the younger man sighed in relief, closing his eyes for a while before he asked the question Brian had been expecting.

‘What time is it?’

‘Ten to seven,’ Brian answered calmly, and he was sure Roger would have paled at that response if he hadn’t been suffering from a fever.

‘What?! Why didn’t you wake me up?’ Roger asked in a nasal voice, once again reminding Brian of the cold,- and sore throat that had developed even more overnight. ‘It’s late! We have to go to the studio!’ Along with this statement, he kicked the blankets aside and tried to get off the bed, but Brian gripped his waist and forced him back on the mattress, gently but determinedly.

‘Oh, that’s not happening. You’re not going to the studio today. In fact, you’re not leaving the bed today,’ Brian informed him sternly, knowing that was the only way to convince Roger of their decision, even though Roger looked at him as if he couldn’t believe he just said that.

‘What do you mean? I can’t just stay here, we have work to do!’

Roger’s complaints had obviously caught the attention of the other couple, whose footsteps were audible in the hallway as they neared the bedroom.

‘The work can wait, dear,’ Freddie soothed when he opened the door, already fully clothed, hair brushed, make up done, ready to go to the studio. He formed a huge contrast to Roger, who – with his hair unbrushed, his cheeks red, his eyes swollen, his nightwear clinging sloppily to his sweat-soaked torso – simply looked _ill_. ‘Brian’s right. You’re ill, and you need sleep.’ Brian turned around to nod gratefully at Freddie, who was closely followed by John, for coming in to help him convince Roger that staying home was the best thing to do.

‘No, it don’t need sleep,’ Roger whined, reminding Brian vaguely of a disobedient toddler who refused to go to sleep when his parents brought him to bed at half past seven in the evening. ‘I have to come with you, I can’t let you do all the work while I’m here in bed-’

‘You don’t have to feel guilty about it,’ John tried to comfort him. ‘We’d rather have you take a few days off than be ill for weeks because you didn’t take time to recover.’

‘I don’t need time to recover, I’m doing perfectly fine,’ Roger pouted, unsuccessfully trying to oppress a single cough that eventually ended in a fit of rather alarming sounding barks that were very recognisable for someone with a cold. Brian patted him on his back while he coughed huskily, to the point where tears started to appear in the corners of his eyes, and Brian sighed in compassion. He knew Roger wanted nothing more than just get over it and come to the studio with them, but to him, it didn’t look like he could just ‘get over’ the illnesses he was suffering from at the moment. he much as Roger wanted, Brian could not allow him to go outside like this, and if it was up to him, Brian wouldn’t even want Roger to leave the bedroom in this state of illness.

‘You do understand that I really can’t take you to the studio like this, I hope,’ Brian assumed.

‘No, I don’t,’ Roger managed in between a string of coughs. ‘I can go, it’ll get better during the day.’

‘Roger, don’t fool yourself. Look at yourself – you’re ill and it’s showing, and you can’t go to work like this,’ Freddie told him sternly. The confident look in his eyes softened a little though when the image of Roger, trembling from the cold and cheeks red from the fever, but most of all, the miserable expression on his face, caught his eyes.

Brian took it from there, afraid Freddie would give in if he’d be given the opportunity. ‘Roger, I know you don’t want to stay at home, but we’re serious. You’re staying _here_ , and I will be staying with you to take care of you - or look after you, rather,’ he corrected himself as he thought of how he was probably going to have to be Roger’s babysitter rather than his caretaker, ‘and that’s end of story.’

‘But we have to finish the track... the thing we were working on...’ Roger’s voice trailed off when Brian pushed him down on the bed again, his resistance weakening when he realised he couldn’t fight Brian in this state of being.

‘The music can wait - the studio won’t walk away while you’re in here,’ Brian said as he tried to refashion the mess of blankets and duvets that had been chaotically sprawled out all over the bed due Roger’s acts of rolling around and kicking every piece of fabric that came in contact with his skin away all night, and Roger emitted the slightest of a chuckle when he said that.

‘Don’t finish the song without me,’ Roger ordered huskily, finally giving in to his inevitable defeat.

‘Of course not,’ Freddie promised. ‘We could ánd would never finish a song without our drummer and our guitarist,’ he added to once again make clear that Brian wasn’t coming with them either now that his lover was forced to stay at home due his illness.

‘Good. So you two are going to the studio now, and I’ll make sure he stays in bed,’ Brian concluded with a nod towards the one he meant with every order he spoke.

‘Right, we’re on your way. We’ll be home at five, I think,’ John guessed, and Freddie nodded.

‘And in the meantime; don’t be too hard on him, Brian,’ Freddie said sternly. Then, when Roger snickered mischievously, he added: ‘And you... don’t be your insufferable self to him.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?!’ Roger tried to squeal indignantly, but halfway the sentence he couldn’t oppress a long-kept cough.

‘You know what I’m talking about,’ Freddie said sternly. ‘Don’t be an intolerable little tease to him.’

‘What? Me?’ Roger asked in disbelief, blinking coyly as he looked up at his bandmate, who could see right through his innocent façade.

‘Oh God, darling, we’ve known you for a while,’ Freddie said, rolling his eyes along with this remark. ‘Don’t wear your boyfriend out and don’t infect him - we don’t want half of the band to get ill.’

‘I might as well infect him when he’s getting on my nerves...’ Roger contemplated out loud with a weary but certainly sneaky glance towards Brian.

‘Don’t you dare,’ Brian grumbled, ‘I’ll secretly throw some sleeping pills in your tea and tie you to the bed when you’re asleep,’ he threatened whilst John and Freddie treaded out of the room, looking at each other for a moment once they had closed the door behind them.

‘Well, I do hope that works out,’ John snickered. ‘Brian being alone with Roger while he’s ill...’

‘I wish both of them the best of luck,’ Freddie said, throwing on a coat on his way towards the front door. ‘We’ll see if they’ve survived each other’s presence when we get back.’

# # #

**Day Two – Afternoon**

When John and Freddie returned home, the couple they had left behind seemed to have survived each other’s presence – and that was just about all one could say about their stay together. As Freddie carefully opened the door to their musky bedroom, he could immediately see the ravage they – and with _they_ , he mainly assumed _Roger_ – had left behind during the day. Trays filled with cups of tea on the nightstand, a pile of used tissues and washcloths on the floor next to the tissue box, worn clothes crumpled to the point where they looked like rags rather than garments on the chair in the corner of the room, stacks of old magazines and books that Brian had probably tried to entertain Roger with sprawled out all over the crappy sheets on the end of the bed. At the other side of the couple’s double bed, they saw a still feverishly looking Roger lying on his belly on the mattress, in his sleep clinging onto the shirt of his boyfriend, who – despite him still being fully clothed and not looking even a little bit ill to the eyes of his observers – also seemed to have drowsed off.

John and Freddie didn’t know if they had to be surprised about finding their friend lying in bed after a day of taking care of his boyfriend, but it was at least _remarkable_ that Brian, who was never tired during the day, let alone that he never decided to go to bed and take a nap, was now lying next to Roger underneath the messy duvets. They even would have assumed he was fast asleep judging by his closed eyes and immobile trance, if he hadn’t tiredly opened one eye and turned around.

‘Thank God, the reinforcements have arrived,’ he whispered while rubbing his eyes, and John and Freddie shared a glance between the two of them, both of them fearing the same thing – Brian having gotten ill from hanging around Roger all day long.

‘Goodness, you haven’t been infected as well, have you?’ Freddie asked him in concern.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Brian mumbled. ‘What I _do_ know for sure is that I’m certainly tying him to the bedpost tomorrow.’

‘Was he _that_ untameable?’ John asked, to which Brian snickered, propping himself up on his hands in order to sit up, doing his very best not to wake the sleeping man next to him.

‘That’s an interesting word to describe this little rascal with. We’re keeping that in mind.’ Brian covered his mouth with his hand as he yawned. ‘And as for your question – yes, he was indeed ‘his insufferable self’ to me. He was incredibly stubborn and he didn’t listen to _anything_ I told him.’

‘Such as?’ Freddie couldn’t oppress a chuckle as he looked at Brian’s personal sleeping beauty, as the guitarist nicknamed him. Roger appeared so innocent now that he was sleeping peacefully with his blond tresses falling like a messy halo around his pretty face. But anyone who had had the pleasure of being in the presence of the drummer for some time, knew perfectly well how utterly _challenging_ he could be to deal with, how _whiny_ and _difficult_ he could become. Especially when he didn’t get his way, or when he wasn’t feeling well like now, he could change into the biggest nuisance one had ever had the pleasure – or the misfortune, rather – of meeting. Luckily, their guitarist was perfectly capable of keeping him under his thumb, but Freddie could tell by the worn-out expression on Brian’s face that Roger had been trying – _ánd_ succeeding – in giving his boyfriend an incredibly hard time.

‘Such as whining about being hungry and thirsty, but not wanting to eat or drink whatever I brought him. Such as getting out of bed every time he saw the opportunity, like when I wasn’t keeping my eye on him for a split second, then complaining when I put him back in bed again. Such as wanting to be entertained, but rejecting every single book or album or game or whatever I gave him. Such as not wanting to take medicines, not letting me measure his temperature, not wanting to go to sleep…’

‘Sounds just like him,’ John commented.

Brian sighed in agreement. ‘Perfectly him. I was hoping to make him fall asleep after you two had left so I could clean around the house and all that today, but mister Taylor _clearly_ had other plans. I’ve been running around the house all day to take care of him, and he only fell asleep half an hour ago.’

‘Only then?!’ John frowned at his sleeping friend that had apparently caused so much troubles in his conscious state of being, and Brian nodded with a yawn.

‘Only then, and only when I laid down next to him and promised him to go to sleep as well,’ Brian said, glancing at his softly snoring company. ‘Which would have been kind of cute if he hadn’t been bothering me all day long.’

‘How considerate of Roger that he allowed you some sleep after forcing you to spend a day like with a troublemaker like him,’ Freddie remarked sarcastically, and Brian snickered before he sighed, absent-mindedly patting Roger’s blond hair.

‘I can’t stand him when he’s like this, but at the same time I feel bad for him, because he really isn’t well,’ Brian started. ‘He doesn’t necessarily want to irritate me, but he just gets like this when he’s feeling awful. He tries to hide how bad he’s actually feeling by forcing me to focus on the things he complains about, but I can see right through that. I knew he only sent me out of the room to get him a cup of tea – which he then didn’t want to drink – because he didn’t want me to see him cry.’   

The glance in Freddie’s eyes softened a little when he heard that. ‘It does really make it hard being mad at him when you know that, isn’t?’

‘Yes, it does. I couldn’t be mad at him if I tried. But _God_ , if he could just be a little less _insufferable_ and maybe even _listen_ to me every now and then…’ Brian mumbled while he ran his hand through his untameable pile of curls, a yawn escaping him while he looked at Roger in his immobile trance as if he was both the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

‘I agree that that’d be great,’ Freddie said while being in the process of stepping forwards and pulling the duvet over Brian again, who looked at him gratefully once he realised what Freddie was trying to accomplish. ‘Go to sleep, dear. You need it. We’ll clean up the house and make dinner – well, John will, because I would only trash the kitchen if I tried to,’ he said with a wink towards his lover. ‘And don’t hesitate to call us when you need us to help you take care of this little monster,’ he smirked as he leant over to pat Roger’s messy locks.

‘Thank you,’ Brian said, reaching out for a wet washcloth before he lay down again, wiping the sweat off Roger’s clammy forehead with it. ‘But I think I’ll manage as long as he stays asleep.’

‘We’ll throw some sleeping pills in his yoghurt,’ Freddie winked, John and him leaving Brian on his own with his sleeping lover.

**Day Two: Night, through Day Three: Afternoon**

The evening and night arrived, and Roger seemed to start getting sicker with every passing minute. Next to the cold, the sore throat and the fever, he also started to show the first symptoms of a flu. By the time it was morning, he was so hoarse, nauseous and dizzy, that Brian decided to call a doctor to have him medically examined. The GP dropped by around ten o’clock, and it didn’t take long for him to come up with a conclusion, which pretty much confirmed Brian’s suspicions: Roger was suffering from all the aforementioned illnesses, and to Brian’s relief and to Roger’s dismay, he was told to stay in bed for as long as it took for him to get better. The physician prescribed a ton of medicines that included sleeping pills, decongestant, ibuprofen to fight his headache and fever, cough medicines that Roger found to be ‘too nasty to swallow’ (even though Brian did not take that as an excuse and made him swallow it anyway)  and some other medicaments that were supposed to work against the overall feeling of being ill.

The GP left and Brian eventually managed to talk Roger into taking his medicines, which was another topic for Roger to nag about. He still did not agree that he had to stay in bed and rest until he had fully recovered and expressed his dismay by giving Brian a hard time taking care of him. But Brian managed to keep up his calm composure until Roger eventually grew too tired to do something annoying like pushing a spoonful of food away with his hand, causing the substance to create ever-expanding stains on the bed sheets. Later attempts of trying to get him to eat soup mainly resulted in Roger simply refusing to eat it, and the solid food Brian brought him, he threw up soon after.

By the time that happened, Roger looked so ill and seemed to feel so horrible that Brian stuffed him with painkillers and sleeping medicines and lay down next to him until he was sure Roger was asleep, after which he carefully got up and joined John and Freddie in the living room, desperate for a bit of rest. Unfortunately, Roger soon woke up again, and Brian ended up walking up and down the bedroom and the living room until Roger finally fell asleep for real at half past five, giving Brian the –pretty much useless – opportunity to prepare dinner for him, given that he wouldn’t eat anyway.

‘Hey, dear. How are things going? What’s he having at the moment?’ Freddie asked when John and he walked into the kitchen, where Brian was making another pan of soup for his boyfriend.

‘Just about _everything_ , it seems to me. It started with a common cold, sore throat, then fever, a headache, and now he’s also nauseous; feeling sick, being dizzy, and he’s just  started vomiting,’ Brian enumerated.

‘That sounds pretty bad. How’s he doing underneath all this?’ Freddie frowned.

‘Not so well. He can’t sleep and he’s shivering all over, but at the same time his forehead is boiling hot. He’s not hungry, and the few spoonfuls of food he does eat, he throws up five minutes later.’

‘And how’s he dealing with it?’ John asked, pulling out a chair from the dining table and sitting down.

‘Being an annoying little monster. And wallowing in self-pity, of course,’ Brian said with a wink, then added: ‘But he’s allowed to, if you ask me. He’s pretty damn ill and I think he will be for quite a while. I don’t see him recovering over the weekend or anywhere soon.’

‘Nah, poor thing. Even though he’s wearing you out, I do feel sorry for him. I hope he’ll get– and behave – better soon,’ Freddie commented.

‘You’re not to blame, that’s for sure. You’re taking great care of him. Do tell us when you need help,’ John insisted, even though he knew Brian would refuse the offer, just like he had done previously.

As expected, Brian did just that. ‘Thank you, but I’ll manage. I’m trying my best-’ Brian said, but then interrupted his own sentence when the three men heard Roger’s soft, nasal voice call out his name. ‘I’m coming!’ Brian yelled back at him, then stirred the soup once more. ‘As I was saying, I’m trying my best; all I can do is try to keep him warm, try to feed him and then make sure I have a bucket nearby, give him medicines, and most of all, try not to hit him,’ he said, pouring the soup into a bowl.

‘That’s the best you can do – especially that last thing sounds good,’ John snickered, then fell silent when they heard Roger call out for Brian again, his voice helpless and a little whiny this time.

‘I think I have to go before he tries to get out of bed himself,’ Brian sighed, putting the bowl of soup, a spoon, napkin, thermometer, washcloth and other necessities on the tray, then walked towards the hall and upto their bedroom. The guitarist pushed the door open with his elbow, entering the darkened, musty room and closing it behind him before making his way towards the left side of the double bed, where his boyfriend was lying, looking awfully small and fragile now he was all on his own in the king size bed. Roger’s eyes fluttered open when he noticed Brian’s presence, and Brian chewed on the inside of his cheek when he did so. It struck him that Roger wasn’t starting to look any better yet; he actually started to look worse. His skin was pale apart from his cheeks, that were hollow and flushed crimson red by the severe fever, his blond hair was messily sticking to his clammy forehead, his hands that were folded together in his lap were trembling mildly, his eyes were a sunken and empty and Brian could see by the red eye rims that he had either been crying or that he had been yawning and sneezing a lot, both of which didn’t surprise Brian in the given situation.

Brian put the tray aside on the nightstand and carefully sat down on the mattress, brushing the sweat-soaked tresses out of Roger’s face with his fingers before speaking.

‘Hey there. You called me?’

‘I did. I’m _cold_ ,’ Roger sighed, the helpless gesture of his hand reaching out to the other side of the bed clarifying that he had tried to grab another blanket but couldn’t reach for it. Brian leant over and picked it up, then draped it over Roger’s body that he could feel was shivering underneath the three layers of blankets and duvets. Brian put a hand on Roger’s sweaty forehead, which felt burning hot, in contrast to what one would think the endless trembling would indicate.

‘God, you’re burning me up,’ Brian commented, reaching over to pick up the thermometer. ‘Come, I’m going to measure your temperature,’ he said, but Roger pressed his lips tightly together when the older man tried to put the metal tool in his mouth.

‘No, I don’t want that,’ he whined, but Brian wasn’t taking no for an answer.

‘You know where else I can _ánd_ will put it if you don’t open your mouth,’ Brian snickered, which left the drummer little choice. Roger opened his mouth just enough for Brian to push the small bar between his lips and under his tongue, feeling a little too embarrassed by what Brian had just said to complain about it any longer. Still, after a minute of waiting, Roger made clear that it had been lasting long enough upto him by pushing the thermometer away with his tongue.

‘Good boy,’ Brian praised him anyway, frowning a little to read the small digits on the thermometer. ‘Thirty-eight point seven. Sorry babe, your fever doesn’t seem to get any better yet,’ Brian said, and Roger folded his arms over his chest, pouting a little.

‘I _hate_ this. I _hate_ fever, I _hate_ thermometers, I _hate_ having to stay in bed all day, I _hate_ being ill,’ he complained, and Brian put the small device aside to give Roger a comforting pat on his hair.

‘I know, angel. And though I hate to say this right now, I’m afraid I have bad news for you,’ Brian said, and Roger instantly turned his head around to look at the clock at the opposite wall, instantly fearing the worst nightmare in his scenario. ‘It’s six o’clock. Time for dinner,’ the guitarist announced.

‘No…’ Roger pleaded, frowning and pulling off the saddest, most heartbreaking expression he was capable of making, even though he knew Brian wouldn’t give in.

‘I’m sorry, baby. The doctor said you have to eat _at least_ three times a day,’ Brian said, genuinely feeling sorry for his boyfriend as he moved over to grasp a few pillows, propping his partner up into a half-lying, half-sitting position by placing them under his back.

‘What is it?’ Roger asked wearily, trying to peek over the bowl that Brian picked up.

‘I made you tomato soup,’ Brian said, and Roger grimaced.

‘ _Again_?’ he complained in disbelief, pointing at the two bowls on the nightstand that had been filled with chicken soup for lunch and vegetable soup for yesterday’s dinner.

‘It’s the only thing I’m sure of you don’t spit out right away,’ Brian said. ‘I don’t think bread or meat and such are a great idea at the moment, regarding the last times I gave you solid food.’

‘Don’t you have something else?’ Roger tried.

‘Freddie, John and me are eating pizza, but I didn’t think you would enjoy that now either.’

‘The thought makes me nauseous,’ Roger admitted, and Brian could see by the way his face paled even more than it already had, that he shouldn’t be talking about food around his sick boyfriend.

‘Sorry, love. This is the best I can do for you. Come, the sooner we start, the sooner it will be over,’ he said, trying to stay positive as he picked up the tray and stirred the soup with the spoon. ‘I’ll feed you,’ Brian announced, but his boyfriend disagreed.

‘I can do it _myself_ ,’ Roger emphasised as he tried to take the spoon from Brian’s hand, reminding his boyfriend of a toddler that had just reached the phase in which he believes he can do everything himself and gets upset whenever his parents try to brush his teeth or tie his shoelaces for him.

‘No, you can’t do it yourself. See? You’re almost spilling soup on yourself already,’ Brian pointed out while holding onto the spoon, almost – but _just_ _not_ _yet_ – feeling guilty for enjoying treating Roger like a little child. ‘Let me do it,’ he stated fatherly when he brought the spoon up to Roger’s mouth.

No matter how ill Roger was, he still managed to pull off that wronged pout of him, quietly muttering something only audible for himself, before eventually giving in and taking the spoon that Brian was prodding at his lips into his mouth. He slurped the orange substance off the spoon, then swallowed thickly after a few seconds.

‘And?’ Brian asked, already knowing his boyfriend was going to come up with a complaint or two.

‘It’s too hot,’ Roger protested, as expected, and Brian chuckled while stirring the soup. ‘And too salty. And too-’

‘You’re just _looking_ for reasons to nag about, aren’t you?’ Brian interrupted him. It wasn’t even unkindly; it was reprovingly, rather. Roger blushed, looking down at the blanket that covered his shivering body.

‘Okay, you’ve got me. I just feel so _awful_ ,’ he sighed, leaning back into the pillows.

A small, compassionate smile spread across Brian’s lips, and he leant in to peck Roger’s clammy forehead. ‘I know. You have every right to feel awful. But you’ll feel even worse if you don’t eat,’ he said fatherly, making Roger sigh and mutter another childish ‘I’m not hungry,’ which Brian wisely decided to ignore. He simply pressed another spoonful of soup against his lover’s lips that formed a taut, displeased line, refusing to open his mouth for him. Brian knew how to deal with that, though – when the red substance dripped down Roger’s chin and onto his pyjama shirt, he simply pulled a tissue out of the tissue box on the nightstand and tucked it into the collar of his partner’s shirt as some kind of bib. Roger complained about it being childish, but Brian just told him that that matched his behaviour exactly, which shut Roger up quite nicely for a moment. It was _just_ long enough for Brian to recover from Roger’s way of acting, before Roger decided that it was time to pick up his game of being insufferable to his caretaker again by refusing to eat and instead focussing on tearing paper napkins into countless little pieces that he then let slip through his fingers, soon covering the entire duvet with small flakes of tissue.

‘Roger, stop that,’ Brian ordered calmly but determinedly.

‘Stop what?’ Roger asked coyly, as if he had no idea what he was talking about, not seeming to be even a little disturbed by Brian’s warning while tearing another white sheet of tissue in two.

‘Tearing napkins apart. You’re making a mess and it’s a waste of paper,’ Brian lectured him. ‘And above all, you should be _eating_ ,’ he added as he brought up the spoon again in another useless attempt to get Roger to eat it. Though Brian was the most patient member of their band, and _without a doubt_ the most patient participant in their relationship, his patience was not infinite, and when Roger continued to ignore the food right in front of him while messing up the duvets with his act of trashing the entire contents of the tissue box, Brian had had enough. With an irritated sigh, the older man dropped the spoon back in the bowl and grasped Roger’s wrist, forcing him to let go of the tissues he was ripping apart.

‘Brian!’ Roger whined, weakly trying to pull away from his grip, but his lover was having none of it.

‘And now you stop doing that. I’m serious – otherwise I’ll leave,’ Brian threatened while picking up the plucks and shreds of napkins with his free hand, knowing his presence was the only thing Roger desperately needed right now, and Roger indeed clung onto his hand.

‘No, don’t leave!’ Roger pouted, and Brian sighed. He could never stay mad at Roger for more than five seconds the moment that cheeky but suddenly oh so innocent face caught his eye, no matter how hard he tried. This time was no different.

‘Then you start behaving right now. Understood?’ Brian asked, and Roger nodded as close to ‘obediently’ as Brian knew he would ever get. He picked up the bowl of soup which he expected must have gotten cold in the meantime. Immediately with the first spoonful of food Roger actually took into his mouth this time, he complained about that, but Brian told him it was his own fault that his food was cold after fiddling around for so long. However, when Roger didn’t stop whining about it, the guitarist got up from the bed and paced back to the kitchen, reheating the soup on the stove while trying to count to ten to compose himself before he walked back to the bedroom with the reheated bowl of tomato soup. He put the bowl down on the nightstand next to his personal troublemaker, who had crawled into a closed position on the middle of the mattress while he was away, refusing to sit up again. Brian sighed and dragged the rebellious patient back where he belonged; at his side of the bed, under the blankets, in a half sitting position so it was _theoretically_ possible for Brian to feed him, though the guitarist knew that reality would turn out differently.

‘Come, you’re gonna eat,’ Brian said when he picked up the bowl. ‘Whether you like it or not, you need nutrition. I reheated the soup for you, so I don’t want to hear any more complaints,’ Brian stated, even though he knew that that was an unreachable goal with a little tease like Roger. As soon as Brian dipped the spoon into the soup again, the younger man started fiddling around, trying to steal the cutlery away. When that didn’t work, he simply lulled his head away every time Brian brought the spoon closer to his mouth, whining about not wanting to eat to the point where Brian lost his patience and dropped the spoon in the bowl of soup again with a groan of annoyance.

‘God, Roger, if you wouldn’t have been so ill I would’ve turned you over to spank you for being so _damn_ annoying!’ Brian growled. Roger looked at him, his tired blue eyes wide with surprise. For just a second, Brian thought he might have made an impression on him by raising his voice to him, but when a mischievous smile started tugging on the corners of Roger’s lips, he knew he had once again not managed to make his lover act like a grown-up for once.

‘I bet you miss expressing your aggression and sexual frustration on me,’ Roger assumed.

‘God, I do,’ Brian found himself admitting. ‘Once you get better, you’ll probably have to spend even more time in bed to recover from the lack of sexual relief I’m gonna have to make up for then,’ Brian chuckled, then looked at Roger to make sure he knew he was just joking; Roger, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be.

‘Be my guest. I can’t wait until you will finally fuck the daylight out of me again.’

‘Roger!’ Brian reproved him, which didn’t stop his boyfriend – it encouraged him to go on, rather.

‘What? I just miss having sex! Can’t you just screw me right now?’ Roger proposed, hands already moving towards the hem of Brian’s trousers, but Brian caught his wrists with his fingers to hold him back, putting them back on Roger’s lap again, as if he was afraid the drummer would continue to try to get his clothes off if he didn’t make sure he put those hands where they belonged.

‘No, I can’t! You’re ill, remember?’ Brian reminded him, not quite believing Roger was in the mood to even _talk_ about sex now that he was sick.

‘Doesn’t mean I don’t want to get laid,’ Roger shrugged, and Brian could not and did not even _want_ to think about performing any sexual acts Roger now that he was as tired, as feverish, and everything else including having the flu and being nauseous, as Brian had ever seen him being.

‘God, how can you be in the mood for that? Sex is literally the _last_ thing I want when I’m ill,’ Brian mumbled as he stood up from the bed, putting the tray of food aside on the nightstand, finally giving in to his defeat now that he was sure Roger wasn’t going to eat anyway.

‘Fit or ill, I’m _always_ in the mood. I thought you’ve known me long enough to know that by now,’ Roger said, flashing Brian his typical a half-crooked smile that the guitarist had to admit he had been missing ever since it had disappeared a few days ago with the arrival of a cold that had soon developed into a fever and a flu and everything else imaginable in terms of mildly severe sicknesses.

‘Yeah, I should’ve known better. And you should’ve known me long enough by now to know that I’m _not_ going to fuck you when you’re sick,’ he stated, looking sternly at Roger, who grimaced when Brian secured the blankets tighter around him, which was the sign that he had to go to sleep again.

‘Come on. If you don’t eat, you can just go back to sleep right away,’ Brian stated as he tapped on the duvet, before he stood up to switch off the nightlight, the only source of light in the darkened room.

‘But I’m not tired,’ Roger brought up his number one complaint. ‘I know how you can make me sleepy, though,’ the drummer teased, not wanting to get go of the previous subject yet.

‘Oh, shut it,’ Brian rolled his eyes, picking up the tray with the infamous bowls of soup and numerous cups of only half-drunken cold tea to bring it back to the kitchen. ‘You’re too tired to do as much as undo your shirt right now.’

‘Yeah…’ Roger hummed as he glanced down at the buttons of his tomato soup-stained nightshirt, knowing he was in no position to do anything right now. Yet that didn’t stop him from teasing his partner: ‘But I think you know very well how to shut me up without me having to remove any clothes,’ Roger managed to say between two yawns, propping himself up on his elbows, and Brian sighed, fumbling for something clever to say.

‘Yes, I do. If you open your mouth once more, I’ll use the opportunity to push the thermometer in it. Let’s see how much more suggestive remarks you can blurt out with an iron bar under your tongue.’

‘You’re so cruel,’ Roger pouted at him, which Brian had grown to understand was his way of admitting his defeat without actually verbalising the words ‘you’re right.’

‘Damn sure I am. That’s how I get when my baby isn’t taking good care of himself,’ Brian said, and when Roger turned his head to hide his blush, he knew he had finally made a breakthrough.

‘You think I’m not taking good care of myself?’

‘Not particularly,’ Brian admitted. ‘It seems you’re trying to make a point out of proving to us that this flu can’t get you down, but we all know how terrible you feel underneath it all. You’ll feel a lot better of you just give in to being ill, stop fussing, catch some sleep, and let me take care of you,’ Brian instructed as he gave Roger’s cheek - by now red with shame - a squeeze.

‘Do you really think so?’ Roger asked softly, like a toddler in need of reassurance that here really wasn’t a monster hiding underneath his bed.

‘I’m sure. I’m sure that just giving in and let yourself be babied by me for a few days until you’ll feel better will make you feel a lot better than keeping up with this tough game,’ Brian said, and, when Roger nodded softly, decided to take his change and get Roger to settle down again. ‘Now lie down and go to sleep – you know you need it. Allow yourself some rest,’ Brian smiled softly, and with a sigh and a bit of an ashamed expression on his face, as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Roger rested his head against the pillow without a even a single complaint. Brian, now finally satisfied with the way his boyfriend had given in to his authority, carefully walked to the door of the bedroom, and when he opened it, the beam of light from the hallway spread across the musky room. He peered over his shoulder to glance at Roger once more, to look if he was already making the first movements of sneaking out of bed, but instead he saw that his personal little troublemaker had closed his eyes as a final sign of obedience. Brian sighed in relief and adoration, putting the tray back on its place on the nightstand on his way towards the bed, not able to resist the urge to peck Roger’s forehead now that he had finally given in to his orders to try and fall asleep.

‘Hm… Brian?’ Roger mumbled, the hoarseness seeping through his voice now that he wasn’t desperately trying to appear well.

‘Yes, honey?’ Brian responded, feeling how Roger fumbled around in the darkness to find Brian’s hand, clinging onto it and bringing it up to his feverishly warm cheek once he found it.

‘Will you come back?’ Roger asked, and Brian stroked his hair. It was unbelievable how Roger could go from utterly annoying to completely obedient in just a matter of minutes, but he wasn’t complaining; he has just happy Roger had finally given in to doing what was best for himself, and he once again could not stay mad at him.

‘Of course. I was just going to get you something else to eat for when you wake up. How about some applesauce?’

Roger smiled weakly without opening his eyes. ‘You’re too good, Bri.’

Brian sighed in agreement. ‘I know, but I can’t help it. No matter how annoying you are and no matter how badly I want to spank you for it, I can’t. Not now, at least,’ he added with a wink.

‘I noticed that. No matter how annoying I am, you refuse to flip me over and spank me,’ Roger smiled cheekily, then thought for a second. ‘Maybe if I feel better tomorrow and still act like a spoiled brat?’ he requested, to which Brian could do nothing but grin back at him and crush Roger in a half-hug, half-headlock, grating his knuckles over his messy hair – to which Roger let out a helpless squeak – before kissing his crown, a lovely contrast to the rougher way of treating him just seconds before.

‘Don’t push your luck, little tease,’ he whispered as he gave Roger’s nose a soft flick, then stood up again. ‘I’ll think about it if you promise to behave tomorrow,’ Brian stated just to get rid of the discussion, then suddenly seeing his window of opportunity to have a serious word with Roger. ‘I know you’re not feeling well and you have every right to show off that you hate being ill, but if you could please not take it out on me, that’d be great. I’m just trying to help you and you _are_ making that hard for me at times.’

Roger opened his weary eyes at the earnest of Brian’s voice, knowing he was being serious about it, looking up at him with guilt visible in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Bri. I didn’t mean to make you mad.’

‘It’s okay,’ Brian comforted him, tucking him in again. ‘Just be good to me tomorrow. Promise?’ he asked, only then seeing Roger had already closed his eyes; his face, even though the fever was still clearly visible on it, having paled a little due his tiredness.

‘Promise…’ Roger mumbled under his breath, and even though it was almost inaudible, Brian could hear the sincerity shimmering through his husky voice, causing him to eventually leave the room with a handful of bowls filled with rejected soup, an optimistic temper and a small smile on his face.

**Day Three: Evening and Night**

Miraculously, Brian’s words had left a positive impression on his boyfriend, because  the younger man certainly behaved better when he woke up again. Unfortunately, the time he woke him up with the message that he wasn’t feeling well was twelve AM, but Roger did really try his best to show that he appreciated that Brian got out of bed to fetch him a glass of water and some aspirins by instantly swallowing them without any complaints. Without even needing to be told to do so, he went back to sleep, surprising Brian with just how obedient he could be.

The night dragged on slowly, consisting of periods of sleep being interrupted by moments of being awoken by an awful stomach pain or a wave of nausea or anything else that managed to dislodge Roger from his sleep and bring him back to the reality of feeling wretched by his state of being. Brian tried to comfort him as much as he could; his ways of consolation consisted mainly of rubbing over his boyfriend’s tummy, helping him undress every time the fever popped up,- then wrap him up in blankets when the cold started to get through, stuffing Roger with the maximum dosage of the medicines the doctor had prescribed, and most of all by just telling him it would get better soon. He continued doing this until the drummer would sink into unconsciousness again, soon followed by himself while furiously wishing the boy he held in his arms would gradually recover overnight.

Unfortunately, his prayers were not exactly being listened to, because quite the opposite happened; every time Brian was nudged awake by the younger man after a few troublesome hours of sleep, Roger seemed to look paler, his eyes emptier, his body shakier. It was as if the previous days and nights had just been some sort of preview to prepare the two of them for what was yet to come, and now the illnesses had _really_ gotten control over Roger’s already weakened body and immune system.

When Roger woke up around half past five, his condition had deteriorated so badly that Brian only just managed to grab the plastic tub he had been keeping next to the bed for this kind of situations before Roger threw up, spilling the little amount of food he had managed to eat during the day into it in multiple waves, until his body was shaking and the tears were running down his eyes.

‘It’s okay. It’s okay, just throw it all out,’ Brian soothed, waiting until he was certain Roger wouldn’t throw up anymore for the moment, before standing up from the bed and gently pulling Roger along with him with the message that they were going to get him a glass of water and a bit of a cleanup.

‘Brian,’ Roger whimpered in pure desperation when they reached the hallway, ‘I feel so awful…’

‘I know, angel. I know,’ Brian shushed while escorting Roger to the bathroom, where Roger ended up vomiting in the sink again, Brian holding his long, blond hair back as he did so. Roger eventually got the control over his body back, sniffed to hold back the tears while wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, looking at Brian with miserable, tearstained eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ he squeaked as Brian sat him down on the rim of the bathtub adjacent to the washbasin, the tears starting to fall from his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I just…’ he started before he gave into the tears, crying quietly to himself. Brian knelt down in front of his sobbing boyfriend, taking his weakened frame into his embrace, instantly feeling Roger cling his thin arms around his back for either physical or mental support – a combination of both, Brian assumed.

‘Hush, dear,’ he soothed, offering Roger the shoulder to cry on he needed so badly after having been feeling so horrible for days in a row. Roger’s tears formed an expanding  tearstain on his shoulder, until he managed to compose himself after a minute of two, pulling away from Brian.

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, casting his gaze down, but Brian lifted his chin with his index finger and wiped the tears from his still burning hot cheeks.

‘Don’t you dare to be sorry. You can’t help being sick, sweetheart. Come, let’s get you cleaned up and back to bed,’ he proposed warmly, and Roger didn’t resist – he had either really listened to Brian’s wish to stop making things so hard for him, or he was just too ill and too sad to complain – when his boyfriend helped him to wash his face, brush his teeth, strip him out of his dirty clothes and brought him – carried him, rather – back to bed. The older man tucked Roger in, but Roger tore the duvets aside and crawled as close as possible to Brian, burying his head in his chest, and Brian felt his heart break when he could do nothing but stroke Roger’s back until he had sobbed himself to sleep again.

**Day Four: Morning through Afternoon**

The night dragged on and Brian found himself bringing Roger to the bathroom to perform the same routine of cleaning him up and brushing his teeth multiple times after he had continued to throw up. By the time the morning arrived, they were both exhausted. Brian managed to prop himself up into a half-lying, half-sitting position, watching as Roger slowly woke up again, moaning softly, helplessly when the realisation and feeling of being sick sank in.

‘Hey, baby. Feeling any better?’ Brian asked, even though he knew the answer already.

‘No…’ Roger whimpered, and Brian sighed in compassion when Roger – who had grown so hoarse overnight that it sounded _painful_ to him – managed to explain in a few words what was hurting him. He pulled Roger’s head in his lap, stroking his painful belly with one hand, using the other to rub his own eyes with. He peered around the room, soon spotting the bowl of applesauce he had brought in for Roger to eat for breakfast. But right now, Roger seemed to be in no position of eating.

‘I suppose I can’t get you to eat that?’ Brian asked with a nod towards the bowl, and Roger practically cringed and flashed him the most desperate look when he saw what Brian was talking about.

‘Brian, please, _please_ not,’ he begged so helplessly that it immediately made Brian feel guilty for even bringing up the topic. ‘Please, don’t force me to eat right now, I… I honestly don’t think…’ he managed, before his husky voice died out and morphed into a fit of coughing.

‘Shhh…’ Brian soothed, stroking his hair. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t force you to eat. If you just take your medicines, okay?’ Roger shook his head violently, but after some discussion, Brian managed to convince him that it was good for him to take a few pills and swallow a spoonful of cough syrup before  the older man went back to his routine of trying to comfort Roger in order to eventually make him fall asleep again, which he unfortunately did not succeed in.

When John and Freddie walked in a little later to check on them and to ask what had happened during the night, they seemed to be genuinely shocked by the physical state of Roger, but also by Brian being completely worn-out. This time they were not persuadable about offering – imposing, rather – their help; they insisted that Brian should catch up some sleep in their room whilst they looked after Roger. The taller man complained sharply against the idea, and the latter one, being too weak and having grown too hoarse overnight to really verbalise his opinion on the matter, just moaned softly and clamped onto Brian’s nightshirt.

‘Darlings, we told you to tell us when you needed help!’ Freddie cried while pointing at both of them. ‘Look how worn out you two are right now!’

‘Freddie, John, I’m fine and perfectly capable of taking care-’ Brian started calmly, but Freddie was having none of it after having seen the escalation of the situation.

‘No dear, you’re not _fine_. You can go back to taking care of Roger after you’ve had had some sleep,’ Freddie insisted motherly.

Brian complained for a bit longer, but John and Freddie were still determined to carry out their plan of action. And knowing they were both too tired to actually opposing against their power, all Brian could do was give Roger a kiss on his forehead and promise him that he would be back before Roger would even have the time to miss him – and tell him to behave himself, of course – before being led out of the room by Freddie, reluctantly leaving Roger under the supervision of John.

Though Brian hadn’t been in favour of the idea of having someone else but him take care of his lover, he changed his mind a bit when Freddie brought him to their bedroom and lay down on the king-sized bed with dozens of pillows, crisp white sheets, luxurious, silky soft duvets and other posh materials that were probably Freddie’s input rather than John’s. He shifted around in bed to find a comfortable spot on the mattress, listening if he could hear anything from the bedroom he shared with Roger. When he didn’t, he assumed everything over there was going as fine as possible at the moment, and allowed himself to fall asleep.  

When he woke up from his slumbering state of being, he looked up at the alarm clock, only to see that over six hours had passed since he had left Roger with John and Freddie. He jumped out of bed and rushed to the room, praying Freddie and John were still able to endure taking care of Roger, only to find Roger sitting in between the other couple on the bed, sipping from a glass of water John was holding for him, until he looked up at Brian when he noticed his presence.

‘Brian,’ he whispered hoarsely, but he was clearly sincerely happy to see him, reaching his arms out towards the man. He was undoubtedly still very sick and it was showing by his still red cheeks and hollow eyes, but he seemed not to be as ill as when he had left him behind, much to Brian’s relief.

‘Hey, angel,’ Brian smiled as he sat down on the bed, and Roger crawled over to him, allowing Brian to wrap his arms around him and kiss his hair. ‘I’m sorry it took me so long! How did things go?’

‘Just fine,’ Freddie replied as he got off the bed, having to stretch out his arms first after having sat in the same position for hours. ‘He’s still not feeling well, and I think his sore throat is getting worse. He’s been coughing an awful lot. But he’s slept for a couple of hours, so that’s a good thing – he seemed less grumpy afterwards, and he even behaved pretty well,’ Freddie snickered.

‘Oh, he better did. We made a deal that included a possible… _reward_ if he behaved well,’ Brian winked, and Roger cast his glance down when Brian openly hinted to the suggestive conversation they had had. But before the other three men had the chance to talk about the ins and outs of his behaviour, the fit of coughs Freddie had been talking about washed over him, and Brian patted him on his back while he coughed helplessly time after time. Brian fed him a few spoonfuls of cough syrup and placed him back in bed again, thanking Freddie and John for their help. After all, he had to admit that not having to look after Roger for a few hours to catch up some sleep instead had actually had a positive result on now picking up the routine of taking care of the patient again with renewed energy, feeling more capable of being there for Roger, exactly as John and Freddie had promised.

**Day Five: Morning**

The afternoon, evening and night that followed the day was pretty much the same as the night before and consisted of Roger dozing off and waking up in cold sweat and nausea, but Brian could tell that the climax of the flu was starting to fade when he found Roger throwing up les often, complaining less about feeling awful, and sleeping for longer periods. But still, due to Roger waking up multiple times during the night, in combination with the fading yet ongoing illnesses, Roger was exhausted at the break of dawn, so Brian covered the window with an old dark blue duvet cover they never used anymore, to maintain the darkness in the bedroom even when the sun was setting so Roger could catch up some sleep.

After having watched over him until he was sure Roger had finally given into the pleasant numbness of sleeping again, Brian tiptoed out of the room, longing for some time outside the confinement of the bedroom, so he opted for joining John and Freddie having a meal that could both pass as breakfast or lunch at the time being in the dining room. The moment he caught the couple’s attention, John gestured for him to take a seat while Freddie got up to fetch him a cup of tea.

‘Here’s to our hero,’ Freddie commented as he put the cup of tea on the table in front of Brian, who smiled in response, allowing Freddie to pat his back. ‘How is our little troublemaker doing, love?’

‘Well, he’s behaving a lot better than before, and he’s doing a bit better. He’s still feeling sick, but he isn’t as nauseous as before. He’s not exactly hungry, but he hasn’t thrown up as badly as before either,’ Brian started, before he added the remaining good news: ‘But he’s been willing to drink some water and even milk and he sleeps for longer periods than before. He even said he felt better than yesterday, whilst before, he only complained about feeling worse every day. He was even able to genuinely smile again this morning.’

‘That’s wonderful, dear. It must be the results of an amazing caretaker,’ Freddie winked, to  which Brian blushed.

‘I’m trying my best, but in the end, it just depends on his immune system. He’ll be fine, though. Recovering from the flu and everything around it just takes a lot of time and mainly rest.’

‘And is he resting and sleeping enough?’ Freddie asked a little sceptically, which was understandable, given that getting enough sleep had never been exactly the number one priority of their drummer.

‘He tries to as much as possible, yes. But he wakes up every few hours and then it takes him a lot of time to fall asleep again,’ Brian explained. ‘But he’s currently asleep, so I hope it will last long enough to do him good.’

‘Why don’t you just give him more medicines to help him fall and stay asleep?’ John asked.

‘I’ve toyed with the idea. He’s so exhausted, but the thing is –  I’ve been giving him so much medicines already that I don’t want to give him more than a little melatonin to help him fall asleep.’

‘Oh, I understand. Especially now that he’s so weak, you wouldn’t want to…’ John suddenly cut off his own sentence. ‘I thought I heard something in the hallway,’ he explained his sudden silence.

‘Roger’s probably gotten out of bed by himself,’ Brian assumed. ‘It’s a good sign that he’s capable of standing up and walking again, because two days ago, he literally was too weak to leave the bed. But knowing him, I’ll probably have to start chasing after him again to make him stay in bed from now off, the little rascal,’ Brian snickered, then stayed quiet to just listen in silence to any audible signs of his boyfriend. He then indeed heard someone walking – stumbling, rather – along the hallway, then followed by the soft click of the door being opened. The three men looked up when the door slowly, soundlessly opened, only to find two weary, teary eyes carefully peeking around it, as if the drummer was afraid the rest of the band would get mad at him for getting out of bed himself and walking towards the dining room. When that didn’t happen, he carefully stepped through the doorpost, softly calling out his lover’s name.

‘Brian?’ he asked hoarsely.

‘Our sleeping beauty has woken up. Hey baby,’ Brian welcomed him, and Roger cautiously walked up to him, his slightly shivering body catching the attention of all three of them.

‘God, Roger, you’re trembling! Come, let’s get you straight back to bed,’ Freddie said protectively, but just as he was in the process of standing up, Brian gave him a sign that he was perfectly capable of telling Roger what to do himself.

‘What are you doing here?’ Brian asked when Roger stood in front of him, body shivering, face pale except for cheeks that were still – but clearly less than before –  red due to the everlasting fever, eyes weary and slightly swollen. ‘I thought I told you to stay in bed in the first place,’ Brian reminded his boyfriend sternly, yet still gestured for him to come sit on his lap. Roger obeyed, allowing Brian to pull him into his lap and letting his long, skinny arms envelop his torso, shivering mildly at the kiss that Brian placed in his neck.

‘I can’t sleep,’ Roger explained shortly.

‘Yeah, we couldn’t help but notice,’ Brian chuckled. ‘But why not?’ It wasn’t exactly unusual that Roger couldn’t sleep lately, but ever since he had gotten ill and actually given in to that state of being, he had spent most of time being – or at least trying to be – asleep.

‘I don’t know. I just can’t,’ Roger shrugged, resting his head against Brian’s shoulder, and the older man brushed the messy, sweat-soaked tresses out of his face. Then, a little softer, as if he didn’t want the rest of the band to hear it, he whispered against the crook between Brian’s neck and shoulder: ‘Because I don’t want to be alone.’

‘Ahw, really?’ Brian asked, turning his head around to look at Roger, who nodded softly, oppressing a long-kept yawn that indicated that he had indeed been very tired, but couldn’t sleep because he didn’t want to be on his own in the dark, musty bedroom now that he was suffering from about five mildly severe illnesses at the same time. It made the guitarist feel sorry for the drummer, but the reason why he couldn’t sleep made him melt inside a little. ‘We can do something about that,’ Brian offered, and Roger looked up at him, nodding wearily once again.

Softly pulling Roger off his lap, Brian looked up at the rest. ‘I’m bringing him back to bed, folks.’

‘That’s fine, dear,’ Freddie responded. ‘And make sure to do whatever it takes to make him stay in bed. Heaven knows he needs it,’ he added with a short nod towards Roger, who was leaning against his boyfriend for support in order not to stagger to the ground due to his physical weakness. Brian helped him out by placing a strong yet gentle arm around his waist, leading him towards the door again. However, by the time they reached the hallway, Roger was leaning onto him so heavily that Brian decided that he might as well carry him to the bedroom. Roger groaned softly in protest when Brian swung and arm around him and lifted him over his shoulder  – now that he was finally feeling a bit better having felt awful for days and days, he didn’t want to give in to his weakness again – but Brian just ignored it, allowing himself to think that he knew what was good for his boyfriend rather than Roger himself.

‘Brian… I can walk by myself…’ Roger mumbled against his shoulder, that one, soft-spoken sentence expressing his exhaustion and confirming Brian’s suspicions that not letting Roger walk by himself was the best choice.

‘Try to convince me that you can while I carry you to bed,’ Brian suggested, and Roger opened his mouth to probably say something indignant before he closed it again once he realised the paradox. By the time this happened, Brian was already in the process of opening the door of their room with his elbow, carrying Roger into the bedroom, laying him down on his side of the mattress and sitting down next to him to collect the messy duvets and sheets to cover Roger with.

‘You know you make me feel like I’m a little baby when you do that,’ Roger only then admitted, but it didn’t sound like he was bothered or ashamed by it – it seemed as if he didn’t want to admit that he secretly liked the fact that Brian could and would carry him, as long as was no one watching.

‘Correction – you _are_ my little baby,’ Brian said, before leaning in and pressing his lips against Roger’s. It was the first time he kissed Roger since he had gotten ill, and Brian got just enough time to remember how much he had missed it before Roger pulled away with a slightly shocked expression.

‘Careful! I don’t want you to get ill as well,’ Roger insisted, suddenly sounding a little more awake, as if the unexpected kiss had woken something inside of him that reactivated his energy for a moment.

‘If that was the case, I think that would’ve happened already by now. I think I’m immune to the flu ánd to insufferable acting boyfriends.’

‘In that case…’ Roger said, before throwing the duvet aside and getting on his shaky knees on the bed, pulling Brian closer by the collar of his shirt, and eventually surprising Brian by tugging his lips against his for a second – and much better – kiss this time, kissing Brian needily but sweetly. As seconds passed, Brian felt the kiss growing a little forcefully, more energetic, as if the act of love literally refuelled Roger’s energy a little. By the end of the kiss, Roger even pulled off one of his usual tricks to tease Brian by nibbling shortly on his bottom lip before he let go, making Brian moan softly.

‘God, you little tease. Are you going to be like this again now that you’re starting to feel better?’ Brian asked him when Roger shifted to the left side of the mattress, creating space for him to lie down on, which the guitarist did instantly. Roger was then taken into Brian’s arms, and he fumbled around on the bed to find a good position before answering his lover.

‘Of course I will. We had a deal, remember? Something along the lines of me feeling better but still behaving like a brat?’ he asked Brian, who groaned as he remembered the obscene conversation they had had a few days before.

‘Roger, _seriously_. I’m not going to fuck you or spank you or anything within that range as long as you are ill,’ Brian stated while slipping his arms tighter around Roger’s torso, but Roger shook his head.

‘That wasn’t exactly the deal, if I remember correctly,’ Roger informed him sternly, as if he was being serious about performing any sexual acts at this point in time. ‘The deal was that if I was doing better and behaved, you would think ab-’ he started, but Brian interrupted him with a cough.

‘Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it, and the answer is _no_ ,’ Brian cut him off. ‘Roger, seriously. When you’re fully recovered I’ll gladly do anything you like, but as long as you’re not, I refuse to touch you in any sexual way,’ Brian told him, sighing when Roger pouted at him. ‘Darling, please understand that I can’t do those things as long as you’re shivering with fever and coughing your lungs out.’

‘I’m not anymore,’ Roger brought in. ‘And by the way, I thought you were immune to my illness?’ Roger questioned with a yawn.

‘So far I seem to be, but that’s not the point in this matter. You’re ill, and you need to sleep and rest to recover,’ Brian answered, caressing Roger’s side. The younger boy closed his eyes, a shivery sigh that escaped him making Brian think that he had won the discussion, but when Roger spoke up again it turned out that he had not _at all._

‘Oh, I see. And you have somehow come to think that your cock up my ass wouldn’t be restful,’ he mumbled provocatively, knowing exactly what to say to appal Brian.

‘Roger!’ Brian reproved him, just like expected, habitually giving Roger’s backside an admonitory swat, which he would soon regret when Roger’s eyes snapped open once he realised what Brian had done to him, and a grin formed on his face.

‘Ooh, you spanked me!’ Roger cooed in that hoarse yet utterly challenging voice of him. ‘So basically I should just do the exact opposite of behaving and instead just be intolerable to get you to spank me.’

Brian groaned softly in reply, wondering how the hell he had to save himself from the miscommunication Roger had just deliberately made up, before he realised that he didn’t have to, instead deciding to just play along with Roger’s game. ‘Well, you _do_ have to give me a valid reason to spank you, isn’t?’ he winked, and Roger giggled, finally satisfied with Brian’s answer.

Curling himself up against the taller man in the short silence that followed, Roger whispered slightly hoarsely against the crook of his neck: ‘Thanks for everything, Bri.’

‘For what? For finally spanking you?’ Brian chuckled.

‘No,’ Roger rolled his eyes as he looked up at Brian, then looked at him with a more serious glance. ‘Well, maybe. But I mainly meant for taking care of me at all time, even at 3AM, even when it was the fourth time I threw up in one night, even when I refused to eat or drink or take my medicines, and even when I was insufferable to you.’

A small smile played around Brian’s lips and he cradled Roger closer against his chest, knowing that the words of gratitude were an indication that he was getting better. ‘Hey, that’s what you have me for. I’m immune to illnesses _ánd_ to insufferable boyfriends.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure,’ Roger mumbled against Brian’s chest. ‘I am not better yet. And as long as I’m not, there’s still time to infect you with my illnesses ánd with my annoyingness, and I might just give you some more reasons to spank me.’

‘Watch it, you little brat,’ Brian said, watching as Roger snuggled against his chest, a sign that he was ready to voluntarily go to sleep again. He suddenly remembered something he had to do before Roger would fall asleep, something Roger hated, but he had good hopes he was willing to do it now that he wasn’t feeling as ill as before, and he reached out for the thermometer on the nightstand. ‘Open your mouth, dear,’ he ordered kindly, and Roger obeyed, letting Brian push the small iron bar under his tongue, for the first time without complaining throughout the whole minute it took the device to calculate his body temperature.

‘Actually hoping it was something else…’ Roger mumbled when Brian removed the stick from his mouth to read the digits, which was a remark so suggestive that it took Brian a second to realise what he meant before he buried his hands in his face.

‘My God, Roger!’ Brian sighed, shaking his head again. It was unbelievable how Roger was capable of making such provocative comments no matter how terribly ill he was. Or well, terribly ill… The results on the thermometer begged to differ, and Brian smiled softly before showing it to Roger. ‘You were hoping it was something else? Weren’t you hoping to see something like this, then?’

Roger frowned in order to read the small digits, before he looked up in surprise. ‘Thirty-seven point nine?’ he asked as if he couldn’t quite believe it, but Brian nodded to confirm that it was true while putting the stick aside again, then pulling the duvets over the two of the again.

‘Thirty-seven point nine indeed. You’re below thirty-eight for the first time again. You’re starting to get better, baby,’ Brian repeated the good news, kissing Roger’s clammy forehead for what he hoped was going to be the last time now that his fever was starting to fade away – and with that, hopefully the rest of the diseases as well. For the first time since forever, a small smile lingered on Roger’s lips when the drowse that washed over him changed into the first peaceful sleep he had had in days.


End file.
